


Start of Everything

by onotherflights



Series: New York Verse [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Best Friends, Bisexual Otabek, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Moving In Together, Past Relationship(s), oh yeah and some mentions of sex, otabek is really insecure and it's painful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 03:09:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9529190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onotherflights/pseuds/onotherflights
Summary: He didn't realize someone could fall in love with their best friend, but watching Yuri light a sparkler and chase the other Yuuri around his own garden made something click. The way he threw his head back in laughter, his hair and his face equally lit in the golden twilight. It was just a little ache in his heart, something he hadn't felt before. It confused him, made him furrow his brows together.Or; Otabek has tried really hard to be good enough for everyone in his life, but Yuri is easy to please.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so, funny story, this was supposed to be 10k. I wrote 10k of this. i started this when i was really sad. Then i was happy and yet i was miserable trying to finish this story as a smut, so it's a fluff because if i published the whole thing it would be a trashcan lit on fire, more of a hot mess than it already is. Not to worry, bits of it will pop up in other stuff, surely, because Otayuri won't let me live at all ever.
> 
> Anyways, my rambling is over! enjoy :)

 

Otabek Altin had always enjoyed pleasing people. 

It started when he was a young boy, helping his family around the house. He was the first of his siblings to volunteer for odd chores, and he didn't do it for rewards or praise, he only did them because he liked the idea that he was helping, that he had a purpose. 

As he got older, it was harder and harder to please everyone. It got complicated. 

His skating, the thing he loved most, didn't please everyone. His coaches yelled at him. He went through training camp and workshops alike, seeing so many others who were able to do what he had to break his back for like it was nothing. One summer in particular, he saw a small blonde boy in ballet training. He was younger than Otabek, but he moved like he was born doing ballet. He was strong, incredibly so, which was an odd way to describe someone who was supposed to be graceful. He was that too, surely, but there was something underlying. When they made eye contact, Otabek panting and sweating from  _ trying  _ so hard to please the instructor, he saw what lay underneath the gentle youth of the boy’s eyes, and he would never forget it. They were the eyes of someone on a mission, someone with a sole purpose. The eyes of a soldier. 

As he kept growing, Otabek tried to define his sole purpose. He loved skating, and he wanted to make his family and his country proud, more than anything. But there was always something missing. Then, he turned sixteen, and he found it. 

Like many sixteen year old boys, Otabek fell in love. A few times. He had known he liked both boys and girls from a young age, and as teenage hormones kicked in, he found that it felt nice to please people in other ways.

Some were fleeting, practice rounds really. He liked kissing boys with scratchy jaws and he liked kissing girls with soft, long hair just as much. He liked the feeling of being close to someone, pressed chest to chest against them, their hearts beating fast together. All of that was special, but it was nothing compared to meeting her. 

At school, she was Aya. If you tacked on the last syllable and said her full name, you were either her family or you didn't know her that well. But Otabek knew Aya better than anyone else was allowed to know. 

She had long black hair that she always tied up in a bun on the top of her head. She wore soft pink lipstick that stained Otabek’s skin when they kissed. She talked about her dreams all of the time, her eyes staring further ahead, further than Otabek could see most of the time. Her legs were small but so soft to the touch, spreading slowly apart so that he could lie between them. She looked so pretty underneath him, her strong eyes keeping his focus when he was otherwise distracted. 

He could count the hours he had spent alone with his first love, his first  _ lover _ , because they were fleeting. He loved pleasing her, those summer days split into hours of wandering hands and arched backs all dedicated to her pleasure. Loving her, it made everything better. He worked harder in his studies and his skating improved, even his brothers teased that he was shaping up to be “husband material”, whatever that meant to a boy who was just sixteen. 

But the fact that he was in love didn't please everyone. 

Aya broke up with him before he left for worlds that year, one of the worst possible times. She was crying and he held her, asked in shock if there was someone else that she had found, someone who pleased her more. She had shaken her head, mumbling against his chest in rushed Kazakh, and then he understood. It wasn't her who had found someone else, but her family. He wasn’t completely shocked, it happened that way sometimes. Tradition paid no mind to love, only looking upon the fact that Otabek was two years younger than Aya and had nothing substantial to offer for her future but an uncertain figure skating career.

The only thing that shocked Otabek was that the look in her eyes, the one that lay underneath her strength, the gleam in her eyes when she talked of all her dreams. As he held her against his chest, he could see it fading.

She said she would always have a special place in her heart for Otabek, but she had to go. 

So, she went. And he left too, to worlds, to make Kazakhstan proud, including the one person he'd thought he'd come home to. Still, he had his family’s support to keep, so he understood what it was like. He thought maybe if the situation were reversed, he would have done what his family asked so that they still loved him, so that they were pleased.

 

When he came home, Aya was married, and he had plenty of time to be heartbroken. 

  
  
  


Then, like a punch to the gut, love found him again. 

Meeting Yuri Plisetsky again after all that happened, how successful he had become in the short years since he had last seen him, he was enthralled with the younger boy. He didn't know why the little one was so mad all of the time, his actual first words to Otabek was an insult,  but more of a deflection than anything. He didn't give up, he had known someone with strong eyes before. He knew why he was drawn to them.

He didn't fall in love with him when he was on the back of his bike in Barcelona. He fell in love, conveniently, when Yuri was eighteen, and they were at a housewarming party together, in New York of all places. 

He didn't realize someone could fall in love with their best friend, but watching Yuri light a sparkler and chase the other Yuuri around his own garden made something click. The way he threw his head back in laughter, his hair and his face equally lit in the golden twilight. It was just a little ache in his heart, something he hadn't felt before. It confused him, made him furrow his brows together.

Then, as if on cue, it started to rain. The guests all crammed inside the new house, and Viktor tried to keep the party going with some bottles of champagne, his husband eyeing him suspiciously as he set the glasses out on the counter. 

Yuri was pulling on his sleeve and asking to leave before Christophe's shirt was fully unbuttoned and Katsuki Yuuri was yelling over the music.

They took a taxi back to their own shared apartment that night, ready to see Viktor and Yuuri again the next morning for training. Otabek was only a few years from retiring at that point, and then he would train young hopefuls too, maybe. He had two golds, he had done what he dreamed of doing. He had focused all his energy and passion into skating, like Yuri did. When Yakov retired, Yuri was Viktor’s second favorite protégée without question. When he had to move to America, Otabek followed him without a second thought. 

They had never made much time for anything or anyone else, so their friendship had grown closer than what one might consider normal. They bonded over healing each other's wounds, both the physical injuries from skating and the emotional scars that life in general tended to inflict. They'd moved to another continent together, they lived together, even when they were at home and had the option of going their separate ways, they lounged on the futon in the living room and fell asleep together most nights. Over the years, Otabek had received many quiet offers from fellow skaters who looked up at him with flushed cheeks, as well as a handful of more blunt requests. He'd turned them all down softly, and then went to get tea for Yuri. He never thought about why he did that. 

In the back of the taxi that night, the rain that had just fallen clinging to the window Yuri let his head rest against, it was like any other night. Then, they hit a pothole, and Yuri grumbled a swear word and took his head away from the window. He grabbed Otabek’s arm and lifted it, leaning in to rest his head on the older man’s chest. He let the arm fall, Otabek gently holding his waist and keeping him close. He sighed contently, and fell asleep. 

All at once, Otabek knew. The small pang from before beat inside of him until he was black and blue by the time Yuri opened his eyes and asked Otabek to carry him inside. 

He knew then why is mother had held him tight before he left for America, tears falling down her cheeks as she smiled. She had said she was sad because she knew he would never come back to live in Kazakhstan. He swore up and down that wasn't true, that he would always come home, but she had just shaken her head knowingly like mothers so often do. She had said he was going to fall in love in America, and that it would become home. She had met Yuri plenty of times, she couldn't have possibly known what would happen. Then again, she had a very particular gleam in her eye. 

He kissed Yuri for the first time that night, in the frame of their front door. Yuri said it was about damn time and pulled him inside. 

He always said he'd wanted three golds, but he thought that was a good compromise. 

  
  
  


For a while, no one knew anything had changed. They showed up to practice together, as usual. They skated together, and got coffee, and were seen around the city on Otabek’s bike, always together. 

At home, the change was obvious. Otabek had spent one night in Yuri’s bed, and he hadn't left since. Slowly, any personal items in his room migrated across the apartment. They finally had that guest room they'd always wanted. 

If they were lazy during morning practice sometimes because they had stayed up all night talking (or  _ not  _ talking), no one made a comment about it. Sometimes, people who didn't know them that well were shocked when they caught the pair stealing kisses, as they genuinely had no idea. 

It wasn't totally unexpected for Otabek, however, to know how good it felt to please Yuri. He figured he'd been doing it unconsciously, platonically, for years. Now it was more obvious, more physical. He could capture Yuri’s moans in his mouth, feel the tremble of his thighs as his fingers dug into the soft flesh.  Yuri was beautiful lying underneath him. Also, he was beautiful when he was on top, soft noises punched from his mouth when he pushed himself up and down. He was beautiful any time. 

He could never deny Yuri anything, no matter how insatiable he was at times. For someone so shy to even hold his hand in public, he demanded constant affection at home. Yuri talked openly about what he liked, how he liked to be handled when he was in a certain mood, and how he would be cross if he wasn't touched accordingly. He was a little minx if Otabek had ever known one. He hadn't used a chair in months, preferring to sit on Otabek's lap. 

He always knew when Yuri was around, even if his back was to him. Their cat, Mishka, would  _ meow  _ softly, as if announcing Yuri’s entrance into the room like he was royalty. Then Otabek would hear bare feet padding softly against the wood floors and before he knew it, lithe arms were wrapped around his waist and Yuri’s chest was pressed to his back. He would kiss his bare shoulder and give a soft murmur, “Good morning, Beka.” 

Being in love again was just as bad as the first time, if not worse. Once the walls were down, the fear went with them, for the most part. Yuri was always quick to reassure him that he wasn't going anywhere, that it was the two of them against the world. Unfortunately, the world always fought back. Sometimes Otabek felt overwhelmed by everything, and even getting out of bed seemed too difficult. In those moments, Yuri would be there against his back like in the morning, an arm wrapped protectively over his waist, kissing his shoulder and tucking his head against his spine. 

“We can stay here as long as we need to.” He would whisper. Always together, even when it was bad.   
  


The bad always passed through, like the sun streaming in from the window to kiss their bare skin after a night of thundering rain.

 

And when things got better, oh, did they get  _ good.  _

Even after being together for over a year, Otabek still felt the same way every time Yuri said ‘yes’ and gave him privilege to wander between his thighs. They didn't always have time for a slow climb, the luxury of hands gripping into soft cotton sheets, the nostalgia of wandering hands like they hadn’t learned every inch of each other. 

Sometimes it was a desperate clash, harsh whispers and teeth biting into skin and scratches along Otabek’s back that definitely were not from the cat. Those times were good, reducing them to lustful, greedy creatures for a fleeting while until their bodies tired out. 

Other times they were hungry but not ravenous, and snuck in banter and easy conversation between the controlled rolling of Otabek’s hips. Yuri liked it when Otabek told him stories in Kazakh, listening intently as he translated three words behind, his legs locked around Otabek’s hips and his fingers buried loosely in the thickest part of his hair. That was good too, it reminded him that after all this time he was still best friends with the boy he'd said had eyes like a soldier’s. 

His favorite times were the slow build ones, though. The Sunday morning feeling of taking it slow, even if it was on a Tuesday at Three. It didn't matter, Otabek always loved having the time to worship the beautiful body that just so happened to be possessed by his favorite soul. The thing was, there wasn't an inch of Yuri that he didn't love. He would close his eyes and kiss the softest skin on the inside of Yuri’s wrist, or his fingers would graze delicately along the curve under his knee. When they were making love, as Otabek loved to say and Yuri would roll his eyes at the phrase, he was allowed to indulge. It was the only time he let Otabek touch him the way everyone who didn't really know Yuri expected he needed to be touched; like he was made of glass.

They didn't communicate very much in those times, at least not verbally. When they were like that, words seemed pointless. 

Sometimes, it made Yuri cry. The first couple of times it happened he tried to quickly wipe the dampness away or cover his face, but he didn't anymore. His intimate trust had grown strong; he knew Otabek wouldn't dare let anyone else in on the secret. Yuri didn't want anyone to know that there had ever been anything that had broken him, anything that needed a patient, kind love to heal the mark it had left behind on his heart. 

Yeah, those were definitely Otabek’s favorite times. 

The thing was, he had never had an essentially  _ bad  _ time with Yuri. Maybe it was because they were close friends for so long before they started dating. They knew each other's little quirks and dislikes. When things became even closer than they previously were, there were no discrepancies left to work through. 

Learning each other's bodies was a different matter. They talked, extensively, about everything. Part of it was healthy, and part of it was Otabek's inner need to know he was good. . . good  _ enough _ . Then sometimes, Otabek just worried that no matter what Yuri said, it was all  _ too _ good to be true, like a dream he’d not yet woken up from.

It started on one of their normal times. They had gotten back from having lunch with Viktor and Yuuri after practice, the happily married couple discussing their plans of vacation. Yuri and Otabek just leaned back in their chairs, his arm resting easily on the back of Yuri’s chair. It was a warm day, the sun shining. It was the perfect day to have lunch with friends. Still, he had caught Yuri’s lingering gaze in the mirror that morning as they brushed their teeth, and he knew. 

When they got home, Yuri fed the cat and Otabek read a book. Yuri came to lie next to him in their bed, and soon enough they were curled up under the blanket, napping quietly. 

He was woken up an hour and a half later with insistent kisses and a hand down the front of his pants. He grinned and rolled over so that Yuri lay flat beneath him, his jade eyes hard-set and a wicked smile playing on his lips. 

From there, it was relatively routine. It was never boring, rather more comforting and familiar. Being connected to Yuri felt like coming home. 

Soon enough, Otabek was gripping one pale thigh in his hand, angling himself to hit a spot inside of Yuri he knew was more than good enough. 

Yuri had stopped mid-sentence - they had been talking about what they were going to cook for dinner that night- and his eyes started to roll back in his head. He quickly squeezed them shut, his head craning back and sinking into the pillow. He moaned so sweetly, eventually falling back down against the bed, back to earth. He opened his eyes after a long while, but he couldn't talk again after that. 

If Otabek had more of an ego, that reaction might have swelled it. Instead, it made him feel guilty. He worried it wouldn’t always be like this, Yuri wouldn’t always feel so much when they were together. He would get bored. He would get angry. He would leave.

Afterwards, in the recovery period, they lay against the bed, sharing shallow breaths. Yuri let his head rest on the soft tanned skin of Otabek’s chest, his leg casually hooked over his hip as he lay on his side. He looked so beautiful naked, Otabek could stare at his compact shape fitting perfectly against his own for hours, and sometimes he did.

“Yurochka,” he approached the conversation gently, one hand carding through long strands of golden hair. The younger hadn't spoken in twenty minutes, so he figured he'd had enough time to collect himself. Or maybe he was falling asleep. 

“Hm?” Was his eloquent reply, more of a grunt than anything. 

Otabek sighed softly, kissing the top of his head as if to put a pink cloud over his next question. 

“Do I ever take too much from you?” 

Yuri slowly lifted his head so that he could meet deep brown eyes, and his expression matched the concern on Otabek’s face, mixed with confusion. 

“During sex or during dinner?” He questioned. Recalling what they had last been talking about before Yuri slipped into another state of mind, Otabek laughed softly, stealing a peck from Yuri’s lips. He would adore this man for as long as he lived. 

“Just now.” He clarified. 

Yuri raised an eyebrow, hesitantly shifting his body and looking down at the result of what they'd just done that was splattered against his stomach and, with how he had cuddled into his lover’s side, on Otabek’s hip. The time where a damp rag was rushed back to the bed to clean up was long gone. In a sick sort of way, it was actually kind of nice. 

He looked back up at Otabek with a smirk. 

“I’d say that's a normal amount.” 

They both laughed heartily at that, the Kazakh man shaking his head fondly, and Yuri folded his arms down on Otabek’s chest and let his head rest against them, so that he could see his face as they talked. 

“What do you mean, then?” Yuri prodded softly, Otabek’s fingers moving down to trace patterns on the blank canvas of Yuri’s back. 

“I just mean, is it too much sometimes?” 

From where he lay over Otabek’s heart, Yuri paused, he was thinking. He'd just been hoping for a simple yes or no answer, but Yuri always made what he said worthwhile. 

“Twenty-three times.” Is what he finally answered. 

It was Otbaek’s turn to give an eloquent grunt of confusion. “Huh?” 

“The first twenty-three times we fucked, you asked me afterwards if it had been good. I counted.” The blonde explained, his cheek flat where it lay against his arms. “You stopped asking the twenty-fourth time because you fell asleep right after.” 

Otabek huffed a laugh of disbelief. Of course Yuri would remember something like that. 

“And now you're asking me if I'm  _ too _ satisfied? Who do you think you are, Altin?” He smirked. 

Otabek nodded with a soft smile but didn't say anything. Most people would have taken that as a good enough reply, but Yuri knew Otabek. He knew him better than anyone else was allowed to, and he knew what he was asking. 

“It's a good thing, when I'm like that, I mean.” He adds quietly. “I don't want you to worry, but I kind of do go somewhere else. I can still feel you, though. It’s safe, knowing you're there. I guess, It just feels. . .” He paused, looking away from Otabek’s eyes like the next part was too much. Yuri was never embarrassed or ashamed to talk about how he felt, not with Otabek, but he was just delicate about it. It was the only part of him that was. 

“I guess it's what people say heaven feels like, if there is one. If it's not here, with you.” 

Otabek held the bone of Yuri’s chin with the pads of his fingers, tilting his head up so that their eyes met again. 

“Yura,” he whispered, and instantly Yuri leaned up, shifting his body to cradle his arms around Otabek’s neck and kiss him deeply. 

They kissed for a long time, as if it was that first night again, the rain fresh on their skin. 

Slowly, Otabek smiled into the kiss, and Yuri smiled too until they broke apart, foreheads resting together and eyes peacefully shut. 

But Otabek couldn't resist. 

“So, you're saying that my sex is  _ so good _ , it sends you to another plane of existence? Damn, I should get another gold on that alone.” 

Yuri dissolved into giggles, hitting his shoulder playfully and nuzzling into the crook of his neck affectionately. 

“Shut up, Beka.” He said, with little to no bite. “You don't understand it, you've never been there.” 

_ You’re wrong.  _

Otabek thought it, but he left it unsaid.

 

_ I don’t think I ever left, not since I kissed you. _

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @onotherflights as well if you want to say hi!


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